Give Me Sugar!

Trixie's blog of sugary wishes. Provided to torment and entice the best of sugar daddies!

Monday, December 07, 2009

Carrie Underwood

Just watched a little of Carrie Underwood's Christmas special. Until seeing this I felt pretty ambiguous about her, but after seeing her bratty, manipulative, eyes-on-the-prize performance I'm a little more sold on her.

She answered the question of "how do you get to the top" with little skits that were supposed to be flashbacks of how she won American Idol, starting with a shot of her in her dressing room with her big fake eyelashes and curlers in her hair STUFFING FAT STACKS OF MONEY INTO ENVELOPES to bribe Simon and Paula with a sly smirk on her face. I like to imagine that some Sugar Daddy she had wrapped around her finger brought her a briefcase full of the stuff specifically for that purpose, with plenty leftover for her to keep and a nice diamond-encrusted good luck charm to boot.

The other sequences were similar, with her stopping at nothing to get what she wanted (psyching out Bice, dognapping Ryan's pet), and the kicker for me was her sweet, smiling expression barely concealing a bratty one swapped out back and forth with her mean, conniving brutal blonde "DON'T YOU DARE DENY ME" expression. She epitomized the whole sugar baby thing.

I'll refrain from commenting on the commercial where she curls up in a stall full of hay and sings to a horse, which I think is special for a different set of reasons.

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Tuesday, June 23, 2009

Nature's Credit Card

Sugar daddy types and those who feel compelled to pay for the special attention of women may be interested in some elements of this post I made about wanting to use nature's credit card to get what I want:

On the Golden Girls, Blanche referred to buying things with her body as "using nature's credit card". I wonder: what is the percentage of women who 1) want things and 2) immediately scan the room for men who can provide the means for procuring the things that they want. I imagine it's pretty high. It seems perfectly natural. And of that number, how many would use "nature's credit card" to seal the deal?

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Sunday, January 11, 2009

Two Massages this Week

On Friday, I enjoyed my second massage that week. Professional, one-hour massages that I paid to enjoy in a spa. It seemed excessive -- two massages in the space of five days -- but it felt SO GOOD!

I hate to admit this, but I still feel guilty about "indulging" myself and my body through massage and other things people consider frivolous luxuries. I *know* I shouldn't feel guilty about it -- I DO NOT WANT TO FEEL GUILTY ABOUT IT -- but I do. I feel like I need to defend myself and I worry that other people are judging me for treating myself to things that feel good. Here are some of the lines I feel like I always need to have at the ready, or things that I say whenever I mention to anyone (online or offline) that I've gotten (or I'm about to get) more massage:

I know I can't afford it but it's ten dollars off this week. * After all of the hours I spend sitting at the computer working, massage is a necessity to help prevent headaches; I can't afford to have more headaches! * I'm not using OUR money, I'm using extra money I earned from talking to my wanker on the phone. * I know, I'm so *lucky* to have time and money to get massage; some people don't even have three meals a day or work so many hours at three different jobs they never get to spoil themselves that way! * I know massage seems like a luxury, but really it's THERAPEUTIC, just like getting exercise or taking medicine when you're sick.
GiveMeSugar.com is therapeutic, too. It's a project I started for fun but also to confront & deal with these messages of shame that are burned into our brains saying we don't DESERVE to feel good, to possess beautiful things, to have time and stuff all to our individual selves.

When I tell people how much massage I'm getting (not nearly "enough" -- I don't think I could ever have TOO much massage), it's almost like I have to apologize for trying to feel good, as though somehow it's only acceptable to spend an hour having your body rubbed by someone you hired if you insist that you only did it because you feel really, REALLY bad. Like you're not allowed to take care of yourself unless you're totally sick.

I should not feel guilty about giving myself pleasure, or obtaining pleasure from other people who tell me it pleases them to provide it, or from paying someone money to give me pleasure so that I am free to enjoy it rather than obligated to reciprocate or try to guess what the person wants in return. I shouldn't feel the need to demonstrate to other people ways that I've denied myself, scrimped, saved, or worked a million hours to "earn" the right to feel good. I shouldn't feel the need to compare myself to those who are less fortunate than I am and protest that I recognize I'm no more worthy than them, I'm just blessed (and certainly don't DESERVE to be). I shouldn't be limited to only having the NECESSITIES in life. I shouldn't have to explain to people that what I do IS work or list a bunch of sacrifices I've made in order to qualify for pleasure. And neither should any other woman. I actually DETEST hearing women minimize their worth like that, apologizing for behaving in ways or experiencing things they supposedly don't have a RIGHT to do or have or feel.

It's not paranoia that makes me feel judged, it's the truth. Since the advent of the internet, women and especially teenage girls have been judged extremely harshly for "taking advantage" of sugar daddies. Girls with wishlists and webcams and paypal accounts and online donation/tip jars and mailboxes rented under pseudonyms have been criticized, lectured, demeaned, patronized, and blamed for all kinds of stupid things. For getting what they want "the easy way". As though what they provide in return is necessarily "easy" or as if there's something inherently wrong with gaining something without giving up more. As though you should refuse when someone offers to give you something. As usual, women are told we're at fault for benefiting from the weaknesses of men. For upsetting the balance where we're only supposed to be AFRAID of (or submit to) what men want to thrust upon us rather than exploiting it in calculated, unapologetic, gleeful ways according to our own rules. There are men who want to tip the balance back in our favor, too; people who see the system and society's standards as skewed and upside-down and want to restore us to our natural position in which we have what they want, and they pay to (try to) get it. While it may seem dysfunctional to some, it's just a response to and part of the greater dysfunction in the world.

The world growls at women who show pride or a sense of entitlement, "What, does she think she's SPECIAL or something?" "There are a million women just like her; what makes her think she's SPECIAL?" Women shouldn't have to apologize for recognizing that they are special and behaving accordingly. And yet, we do. *I* still do. So as an exercise in overcoming that, you may buy me massage and spa time ranging from thirty minutes to a whole day of indulgence:







You may also send cash -- MY FAVORITE -- or a gift certificate to my favorite spa straight to my snail-mailbox:
Trixie Fontaine
1240 W. Sims Way #7
P0rt T0wnsend, WA 98368
If I could buy the whole world a massage, I totally would! In the meantime, I'm going to enjoy as many massages as you will buy me. And practice not feeling guilty, instead just reveling in every pleasurable moment of having my favorite lesbian massage babe rub hot oil all over me!

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Friday, August 22, 2003

Little Tubs & Jars of Cream

I have always loved lotions and creams. But as I mature my desire for high quality skincare (especially in fanciful packaging) is becoming richer. I would love to have tons of jars and vials filled with gooey, silky, creamy, smelly stuff to gently smoothe into my face, to slather all over my skin. I want to have a skincare regime . . . isn't that what all beautiful women engage in, morning, noon and night? Anti-wrinkle serums, sweet smelling balms, gently perfumed moisturizers, refreshing cooling spritzers, and decadently expensive creamy "bee cum" as one character calls it in the glamorously trashy Hollywood Wives.

I love the early scene in All About Eve when Margo is in her dressing room seated before the mirror holding court while she's smearing cold cream in circles on her face. She doesn't look beautiful at that moment . . . but she's powerful, she's pampered, she's oh-so-tired of it all, she's admired, she's IT. She *is* the queen bee.

The "beauty regime" involves giving yourself the royal treatment . . . because you *have* to . . . for your public. It's part of your job.

The only way to communicate that I am high on the totem pole . . . that it's really a job to be beautiful and that men *need* for me to do my job in order for them to understand their own job in this world . . . is to have the proper tools to do my job. The proper skin treatments are essential tools. Here are just a FEW of the concoctions I'd love to add to my beauty regime:


Nice 'n creamy for my dollface!



It's not always about the product, but brilliant retro packaging to look good among your toiletries.



Ahh yes - this tub says "glamour girl!"



The teeny tiny bottles are the most important!



Yes, you read correctly: it's so expensive because
it's made in a monastary, one tub at a time.
click picture to buy
Mail to: Trixie Fontaine, 1240 W. Sims Way #7, P0rt T0wnsend, WA 98368


This is part of the mystery of femininity eluding men and the poverty-stricken. The closest a guy can get to the little jars and vials full of magic potions is to buy these necessaries for a lady.

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Friday, June 13, 2003

Hungry for "Love"

I feel guilty admitting it but I'm so hungry for love. In the form of sweaty wrinkled dollar bills pried from poor bastards who can't resist giving me their last dollar. In the form of thick crisply-delivered from an atm machine stacks of cash from men who get hard blowing their wads on me. In the form of sexy shoes to flatter my petite feet. Pedicures slathering luxury on my soles. Carefully scented skin care products. Fine fabrics draped against my soft feminine skin. I want to look as pampered and perfected as God wants me to be. I want my body to be a temple swaddled in the adoration of men.

I want it. There I admitted it. I want your money. I want your gifts. I want you to take pleasure in surrounding me with trinkets, baubles, so many shoes I need an extra closet. I want a new leather handbag with a smelly leather wallet chubbily padded with your money. I want to show it off when I go to stores . . . show off the money you gave me. Everywhere I walk I'll belong to you just a little bit. And you will own my smile of delight. My comfort. My repose.

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